Psalm of a Sarmatian
by TheSlytherinNation
Summary: He told me everything would be alright, but I'd learned not to trust my father long ago. So when my attempted marriage failed, I ran...right into the arms of a knight called Tristan.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** Hi everyone, sorry for the name mix-up, a leftover from a previous incarnation of the story, her name is and always was intended to be, Carpathia. Thanks!

**Psalms of Sarmatia**

I am Carpathia, a Rhoxolani, a proud member of the greatest of all Sarmatian tribes. My father is Romulus Tigris - one of the best warriors our cavalry had ever seen - now a trainer of pompous, arrogant and frustratingly overconfident Roman nobleman. I am trapped; as trapped as any prisoner, but my cell is not a rusty iron and aged stone prison. No, my cell is a promise. A promise given to some Roman bastard little more than a month ago; a promise for my hand in marriage.

I sat upon my bed looking out my open window, the early morning sunshine drifting lazily through. My dark hair lifted lightly in the sweetly-scented wind and settled back onto my shoulders just as softly as Larcia did when she plaited it.

Larcia Horaea –she was a Roman governess that acted as a both my parent and teacher when my father was too busy training his prized solider and the bane of my existence, Junius Septimus. She was standing in the doorway of my room, about to leave.

Her slowly greying hair was tied in a tight bun, gracefully placed on the crown of her head. She gave me a simple nod and left the room, her faintly musky scent remained. I had grown used to her presence and in hers was the only company I ever truly relaxed in.

Once I was alone, I undressed. When my constricting Roman chiton came off and I once more put on my more proffered dress; Sarmatian breeches and a tunic worn by Roman farmers, tucking my ritual dagger, blunted by years of use by my father, into my boot. Whilst wearing this garb, I felt a different being. Not just in look, but in manner and action as well. The soft wool of my Roman toga was preferable when walking around the draughty, tapestry-laden stone halls of my newly-built abode.; whereas my worn leather leggings and linen tunic were much more practical when I went away for days at a time in the Sarmatian wilderness, to get away from my family's Roman influences.

The only positive aspect of my family's Romanization was the stories that I was told from the age of six by Larcia. Stories of chivalrous knights in their shimmering armour, the Sarmatian boys that Rome took from their mothers' breasts and turned into soldiers. I had heard of many such knights, but in recent years, it seemed that the favourites of my father's soldiers were King Arthur and his shining men.

I grew up with these stories, but even from my sprightly young years I knew that I would not be a helpless damsel in distress.

I would make my own story. And on the day of my wedding to some 'noble' Roman solider, I did just that.

I was in my room, saying goodbye to the last refuge I had kept against all Roman influence: the cool stone floors of my room, surrounded with any remnants of my old life that I still had. My first archery bow -made of a young sapling even greener than I had been- sat atop my table. An ancient leather saddle, still smelling of fire-smoke and sweat adorned my north-most wall. I took my bag and in the ratted and voluminous clothes of my bed-maid, I took one last look at the creamy white wedding tunic that lay on my bed and walked out my door. I shed my old identity as easily as the cinder-girl had donned her new and forever walked out of my old life, whether free or in shackles.

I ran through the servant's entrance, knocking over many serving boys, maids or cooks that blocked my path. My serving tunic billowed behind me as I escaped my stone prison and burst out into the streets. Roman citizens continued about their daily practices ignoring the rampaging servant girl in their midst's. I ran across the centre square, my blue eyes scanning the crowd suspiciously for any that would notice my face.

I was lucky; I had avoided the people of my new Roman town as much as they had avoided me, and none recognised my subtlety different (that is to say, Sarmatian) features. I sped into a sprint and rounded a corner abruptly stopping in front of a two story insulae whose sagging windows, crooked boards and broken walls looked as though they had lived longer than the Roman occupation.

The lane's open paths and enigmatic residents made me feels as incongruous as a lost city girl in Woad's village. But instead of being smaller physically, I felt smaller emotionally. Dwarfed by the happy families and daily goings on that assaulted my ears from all angles. I knocked on the door three times and waited. My heart beat rapidly against my chest.

Almost instantly, the door opened wide, seemingly of its own accord and I walked in. I could hear the sounds of clambering feet in the streets that surrounded me, shouting and clashing of metal and wooden carts as I stepped through the threshold, the thick wooden and iron door closing behind me and blocking out all sounds of my hastily recruited search party's rampage through the city.

My heart sped up another notch as I entered the stagnant but mainly well-kept hallway. The smell of decaying parchment and rancid dust filled my nose, clouding my reason. As desperate as I was to get away from the pursuing soldiers -over eleven men by my ear's count- I did not hear the quick swish of cloaks as I entered the next room.

The moment I stepped in, I looked around, perplexed. I was supposed to meet Larcia here in this secluded house, our last rest stop before we began our journey. She was supposed to get here quickly and safely. Where was she?

My breathing became erratic. I looked around the room more closely this time, my quivering frame taking in the whole room for the first time. The shabby woven rug that covered the hewn stone floor, the rickety cupboard stacked with enough provisions to last two people for over a month, a cracked glass window pane sealed shut with the sounds of the clamour emitting from the surrounding streets and the open doorway leading to the stairwell.

My mouth opened, a silent cacophony playing in my head, yet I could barely manage a squeak. I whirled on the spot, thinking I would escape through the open door and through the back streets to the nearest caravan.

But behind me there lay not an escape route, but Junius Septimus, my father's most prized student, holding a gagged and Larcia by the muscled arms of an unknown Roman solider, most likely one hired by my future 'husband' in order to guarantee my capture. I looked around and saw Larcia in the shadows, her gleaming eyes screaming at me to run! Junius turned to me, his teeth barred in what I assumed was meant to be a smile, "My darling, Carpathia, did you really think it would be that easy? You've been watched since the moment your father told you his plans, he may be old, but he's still a soldier. He knows you well enough, your impetuous behavior, to realise you would try to escape. You'll never escape me." He leaned forward, his hand out, as if to stroke my hair. I flinched and bolted.

Taking one last longing look at my only childhood companion and sprinting for the nearby doorway racing up the stairs, looking left and right frantically for a way to escape. I hit the landing, the momentum from my speed jarring my knee as I turned on the spot and burst through the closed door.

I was stuck.

Junius appeared behind me, his surprisingly content grin spurring me into action. I backed away slowly, grasping the corner of the long and very thin, linen bed canopy, easing it off the iron bar that held it in place. I pulled it towards me, my heart still beating wildly as I edged backwards away from the slowly approaching Junius. I wrapped one of the ends of the canopy around my clammy hand as I stepped towards the open balcony and as if in slow motion, I saw a string of emotions cross Junius' face.

He had realised my intentions and began to run forwards his mouth open, an emotion closer to worry than rage splayed across his face. I ran across the balcony, the pilled canopy folded in my arms. Junius was still on the other side of the room, the time given by this distance enough for me to tie the remaining end of the canopy to the balconies wrought iron railing and to realised that my situation was dire.

I felt all the rage and anger at being pulled from my family, taken away by my father to a place where all but the rodents were viewed as above me. The claws of loathing and rage grasped further at my mind. "I was taken from my family! From everything I held dear, because my father wanted 'a better life'" I mocked. "He never cared about me! Never! If he had really understood me he wouldn't have made me leave!" A sympathetic look settled on Junius' face, one I did not understand. "Carpathia, you weren't stolen from your family, you were disinherited and abandoned. Your father had been a mercenary for the Romans when he met your mother, their match was not accepted. When she died, you were no longer welcome. Your life was in danger!"

"Lies" I screamed, barely able to stop myself from listening to his cruel and untruthful words. I tried pulling the knot that I had been tying onto the balcony while he spewed forth such rubbish, testing its strength- it held. I took a deep breath and prayed to whatever God's still believed in me. Without another thought I jumped off the rim of the ledge, hoping and praying that the flimsy fabric was not longer than I had thought. For otherwise my adventure would not end in shackles but in my death, when my fragile skull connected with the unyielding stone road.

The air whistled through my ears and I fought to keep my hold on the fabric. Suddenly I realised that my life-lines path led straight through a furniture stall and as I neared its wood and fabric over-hangings I let lose my hold and jumped onto the fabric roof, my weight breaking it and forcing me downwards on top of a glass and wood table. I landed in the street, both my breeches and skin ripping open from the force of landing on the shards of glass that had come from the broken table.

As I sprinted through the streets - the shops and people around me blurring in my haste to get away from the retched men that chased me - I looked at my situation objectively and almost laughed at the similarities recent events had to one of my favourite tales.

A tale of a little girl wondering through a forest, going to see her grandmother, but rather than finding a comforting smile and crinkled eyes poking out the top of the blanket she found the snarling jaws and shredding claws of a wolf greeting her. But I had no saviour, not gallant lumber-man to come to my rescue and cut my attackers into pieces. I had to help myself.

My feet slapped against the cold cobbles of the street as I escaped into the alleys under the late afternoon sun. I could hear the sounds of angry shouting behind me and couldn't stop myself from turning around and looking at the faces of my chasers. I glanced into the eyes of Junius and all I could see in them was excitement and hope - probably of the recognition he would receive for capturing me.

My head swivelled back, as I pictured marrying an ancient nobleman, hideous and vulgar, being forced to live a life of slavery. Fuelled by revulsion and fear I sped up to a pace beyond what even I had thought I could reach. My body feeling the absolute terror I experienced every time I even contemplated giving myself up and marrying someone so disgusting.

I turned another corner but realised a second to late that it was blocked, not by a mere scalable stone wall, but by a human barrier created by the sturdy bodies and armour of twenty-strong Roman soldiers. I looked up, beseeching the heavens, questioning their judgement in literally throwing me to the soldiers. It was then I realised that my path had led me to a fork, I could either give up and let myself be married of to some supposedly 'noble' Roman, or I could fight.

I slowly reached into my boot and slid the unfamiliar blade from its sheath. Taking a deep breath, I slowly turned in a circle, looking for an possible escape route. Spying a small alley in the street behind them, I prepared myself.

I took a deap breath, the air rattling through my through towards my pounding heart. This was it. My last chance before he found me.

I launched myself at the soldiers, my rage and anger at both them and my position projecting itself onto my face. My blunt knife bruising if not cutting the torsos, arms and faces of the men, luckily, their surprise at having a young woman launch herself at them, allowed me to claw and stab through their confused masses and onto the other side of the barricade. I scrambled onto the cobbled street and once again began running.

My hair came free of its bun, the wind rushing through my hair. I felt exhilarated, everything I had gone through, 12 years of emotional torture at the hands of these men, pushing me to run. I felt someone grab onto the edge of my tunic, I ripped out of their grasp and continued my bid for freedom, my eyes shining, the taste of freedom so close to my tongue. Imagining my escape once I was free of them. I would be forever lost to the winding alleyways of Novae.

But my dreams were cut short when I was tackled from behind by my tormentor Junius. I pushed myself back onto my feet and screamed "Leave me be! I want to spend my life with someone I love, not shackled to some Roman pig that will torture me for the rest of my life! I want a happy ending as well!"

And with a final desperate wrench I elbowed him in his nose, pulled myself free of his grip and continued my bid, away from my cities constricting streets forever.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N Sorry for the multiple and very late uploads_

_Betas have been hard to come by and I'm still figuring out Upload Manager and all the various layout nuances_

I ran. Not stopping for longer than a few days; and yet it still took me more than two weeks to reach the closest port to my hometown of Novae, Salona. I spent my nights in back alleys and cheap _Insulae_, constantly moving so as not to leave a trace that my 'dear' Junius could follow.

It was at this port that I first encountered trouble.

A Roman slave-trader, seemingly packing up his stall and as I walked past him, I heard him call back to one of the dock-workers, "I am leaving within the hour for Gesoriacum", (a large trading port closest to Britain and a month journey by horse from Salona).

"Pack my wears into the barge and tell them that I will personally deal with any trouble-makers" he demanded with an evil smirk in his tone.

Seeing, the perfect opportunity to get as far away from my pursuers, I began to sneak around the back of his stall and had joined the line of men and women slowly trudging towards the cage-like carriage that I assumed was their master's way of transporting them from one city to another.

It was then that I felt a cold hand grip onto my shoulder and spin me around, my quickly tied up hair coming free of its bun and covering my eyes. "Well, well, well- what do we have here an escaped slave I assume?"

I felt the rancid breathe of one of the dockworkers assault my senses. "Let's see what the sir has to say about you" and with that, he grabbed my arm and began dragging me towards the slave-trader.

My terrified screams and kicking protests ignored in the bustling port centre.

This was wrong, so wrong! I was to go to Aurres in Albania first, and from there a boat to the furthest port from my captive-town of Novae, away from my father and all his portentous 'students'. I was supposed to be escaping from a live of slavery, not be pulled into a new one.

My thoughts did not portray the confident woman I would need to be to escape this situation. And so, like all Sarmatians living in a society that outcasts them, I acted.

I was dragged along by my un-troubled captor, my abduction being ignored by the tide of people surrounding me. Slowly being pulled closer and closer towards the slave-barge, filled with horrid straw mattresses and days stuck in tiny cages aboard a rickety boat.

After 5 minutes of struggling the dock-worker pulled me up next to his master. Having only heard his rough bellowing tone before-hand had not prepared me for his startlingly handsome looks, his chiselled legs showing through his tunic and sweaty but well-groomed dirt blond hair sweeping in front of his eyes.

It was as if he was a long bright butterfly in a sea of dull moths, all the drab peasants surrounding him seemed to fade as his flashing grey eyes looked directly at me.

The look he gave me brought reality crashing back down. It was a look befitting an ancient leering man, staring at the scantily clad prostitutes at a bar, admiring but looking down upon. I shivered in my thin stolen servants clothes and my situation suddenly seemed more precarious than a simple case of a caught 'stowaway'.

He once again looked up and down my body, smirked and turned to my captor.

"Marcus, who is this delicious piece of meat I see before me", and as he turned around I finally saw the single imperfection on this evil man's unfairly good-looking façade. A white-purple scar cutting through from above his hairline, next to his eye and curving around to above his ear, its end lost in his tarnished-gold locks.

"This, Sir, is a peasant found trying to sneak onto your ship" the worker muttered in contempt.

"And why would such a statuesque woman be hiding aboard a slave-boat?" he queried to his servant.

He turned to me and with a once again un-seemingly perverse tone he questioned, "Looking for work deary? Or just a night's accommodation?" He laughed at his own, inept humour, and turned back to my captor.

After a short exchange of words, mumbled so fast in colloquial Latin that I could barely make out syllables let alone follow the conversation, he turned to me.

Looking me directly in the eye, he stated, "Well it seems your wish has come true, we've been in need of a new maid, and you're the only one I've seen so far that had actually been a pleasure to view, rather than a hideous and useless wall-flower. How well can you mop floors?" And with that, as if by some unspoken order, I was once again unwillingly picked up and dragged to the barge.

My terrified kicks and screams went un-noticed as the worker chucked me over the 2 metre high unscaleable-banister and onto a pile of filthy rages that covered half of the ship's deck.

"If these are not all clean by the time the sir's returned, I think you'll find yourself missing a lot more than just dry land". He laughed dementedly and continued down the boardwalk, passing many others workers and questioning their progress.

I took my first moment of peace that I had had this morning, to look around my new prison barge.

It was new, in good structural condition, but it was as if a layer of grime had permanently stuck itself onto every available surface. Its black coating looking for all the world like a thick layer of ash that had descended from the remains of a giant smouldering bonfire.

Once I had come to the conclusion that escaping into the putrid polluted river, I began to walk around. I noticed a gleaming oak door, gilded golden pattern-work and bolts holding a thick iron knocker in place.

Turning the handle, I was astonished to find that it was not flocked, or even bolted in place and swung open at my touch.

The lavishness of the room seemed ill-fitting and out of place on the obviously uncared for ship. Heavy wooden chairs with thick upholstered pillows in maroon and bronze stood next to a thick oak table, a single candle puttering on it.

The high windows that were covered by thick belts of red and gold fabric hung down from bronze bars, letting in a bare minimum of sunlight. The room's masculine influence was obvious by both its subtle hints of tobacco smoke and the worn leather boots sprawled across the soft leather chaise in the corner.

I walked further in, the door, no longer held open by my foot, swung shut behind me. It rich fabrics and permanently imbedded smell of tobacco did not reconcile with my image of the slave-trading barge, nor its captain.

I walked around the table, the plush carpet beneath my bare feet so soft that my toes curled into it. The bright wooden panelled walls and lustrous wooden floors made me remember happier and better times. Of my flights through the Sarmatian wilderness in search for the knights and Woad's I had heard so much about in my nanny's stories. The sparse forests of Sarmatia were more of a home to me than the cold Roman building I lived in had ever been.

I sat down on the chaise lounge and pulled a thick quilt over me body, cuddling into the warm cushioning. The stresses of running away and the feeling of sleeps left wanting when it is a rare commodity. All of my failures and triumphs that I had experienced to get here built up, the weight pressing down on my mind.

My eyes began to droop and my knees tucked under my arms, my toes scrunching up into the blanket as I began to let Sleep's peaceful call draw me into his world of dreams. Just as my consciousness left the plush room I was in and flew over raging rivers and ever-reaching mountain ranges into my favourite dream place - I was awoken with the slamming open of the heavy oak door and a shout that chilled me to my bones.


	3. Chapter 3

Standing furiously in the doorway was the ship's captain, the man who truly had a better cover than story inside his pages. His eyes raging with the power of a thousand tormenting storms, his fists clenched so tight that the veins in his hands looked as blue as the rivers my mind's eyes had just flown over.

His screaming eyes scanned over the room and landed on my huddled form and he screamed, enraged "You bitch, how dare you try to hide from me. I told you, every time you try to stop me, I'll kill another member of your precious 'family'" and as he finished the sentence I heard a scream, so high and terrified that it could have only come from a little girl.

My frozen fingers, so paralysed, let slip the sheet that I had pulled up over my mouth when he came raging through and the complete look of surprise on his face would have been comical if not for the screams that still echoed from the deck.

He looked confused for a moment and then his face resumed the cocky expression that he had bared when I had first seen him. He turned and shouted out the open door "It's not her, keep looking!"

And with that closed and bolted the heavy door and began to advance towards me, his glinting sword and highly polished boots fitting perfectly together with his extravagant surroundings.

"So deary, what on earth are you doing in my private study?" he emphasised the word private with a perverted raise of his eyebrows.

"I'm sorry for the scare, we've had a bit of trouble with one of our female slaves, troublesome wench" his eyes glinted with madness as he mentioned the woman, the same madness that I had encountered but a moment ago.

My mind so muddled by his sudden personality change -from a raging madman to a flirting sea-captain- that I barely noticed the small jolt and horn that signalled our boats releasing from the dock.

But even being almost scared to death by a bi-polar slave-trader did not stop me from hearing one of the ship's men calling through the door, "Sir we've left the dock, and have set course for Britannia."

"Fine" growled the still unnamed attractive madman to his worker.

"But if I am disturbed for anything less than the Pope coming on-board, there will be hell to pay, understand?"

The silence on the other side of the door was answer enough.

"So, beauty, it seems that I have yet to hear a name come forth from those perfect lips of yours. My preferred title is Sir Lucian Procto, but you are free to call me Lucian" he began lecherously, "and now that you have mine, may I be gifted with the title of the fine specimen before me?"

Seeing an opportunity to further distance myself from any that try to follow, I released my decided upon alias to the man in question, "Carpathia."

He looked at me with a smirk upon his face, "How fitting. Like the mountains; adventurous, beautiful and completely hostile".

2 weeks I spent on that blasted ship, locked up in the ship's hull. A single window, the only natural light source that penetrated my extravagantly plush prison cell; and even that was covered by water, often as not.

I hadn't been allowed out since the day I had 'boarded' but from the cries of pain that were heard from the deck I theorised that the escaped girl hadn't been re-captured, but I hadn't heard a peep about her since from either the guards or 'Mr-I'm-so-arrogant-that-even-Princes-mock-me'. Lucian, as he preferred to be called.

We arrived at Gesoracium and were herded of into pens like animals. Lucian regally glided down the boarding ramp and walked towards the elevated stage, ready to sell his 'wares'.

I saw women and young as 3 being dragged from their mothers, their tattered slippers scraping along the ground. 10 or so were lined up at a time, and chained together to prevent escape. Old men, housekeepers and business-owners alike walked around our cages.

Comparing prices and appearances with their friends, as if we weren't even human, just items to be bartered off and sold.

I saw Lucian walk of stage and head towards a regally dressed older man and they immediately began conversing in hushed tones, completely ignoring the suspicious looks thrown their way by the crowd. A young, well-dressed, but supremely ugly man that I had come to know as Lucian's helper walked onto the podium and continued the bidding.

With the sixth lot finished and all the women, men and children on the stage were walked and shackled to their new owners various vehicles.

I was taken up next 5th along in the row. I knew I should fight back not just let myself be dragged onto the stage and auctioned off like a horse, but I couldn't see any way out of my predicament and hoped that my soon-to-be-owner would forget to shackle me and I could escape, within a few days.

In any case, it seemed as good a way as any to blur my path if my father and his mercenaries ever found my trail. They would never think to look into the slavery business to find me, rather try and track down any new servants or workers.

I looked through the audience and felt a gasp escape me mouth. An extremely handsome Roman legionary stood in full battle armour and as his eyes swept all the women on stage, I felt his eyes stop when they passed over me.

A sly grin slid onto his face, his perfectly even teeth seeming overly white for a man that had most probably drunk enough ale to fill all the rivers of Sarmatia.

I looked ahead of my and saw a gorgeous young woman, she mustn't have been more than 23, with a very young girl attached to her leg. They shared the same beautiful features and I assumed that this was her younger sister.

When the girl before me was called onto the stage and Lucian's vile helper began listing all her 'attributes'; young, relatively good-looking, strong-willed, strong, proud and very very feisty.

At this last attribute many men in the audience looked up and smiled lecherously towards her, barring the disgustingly good-looking Roman who continued to look at me with something of a contemplative expression on his face.

The bidding began with 100 denarii and continued. "200", "300", "500!"

The poor girl looked so terrified and I saw her hand gripping the young girls. "750!' amazement and shock broke out in the crown, 750 denarii was enough money to buy a small house!

I could tell by the auctioneer's face he was delighted. He knocked his gavel against the podium, "Sold! To the man in grey, for 750 denarii!" The woman was pulled of-stage by her new 'owner' and he began to drag her towards one of the nicer carriages parked in the square.

Suddenly a cry so full of rage and anguish sounded, that my own base instincts told me to run and hide. I turned and saw Lucian, his face so full of loathing and anger that if not for his clothing, I would not know it was the same flirty -if arrogant- man, that had talked to me throughout my imprisonment.

He charged towards the man that had dragged the gorgeous woman off-stage, his feet pounding against the unyielding cobbles. A vein -almost blue-green in its intensity- throbbed on his neck. His flying body reached the couple within seconds. He jarred to a stop and without so much as a flinch; he yanked his gleaming sword from its scabbard and brought it down onto the arm that held the crying woman.

The arm fell from her body and as the now one-armed man fell to the floor and began to writhe in obvious anguish. The still furious look upon Lucian's face stopped any from coming forward to help the man. The woman shakily looked down at the motionless and bloody appendage that lay on the floor next to her feet. Her eyes widened to a size I thought was beyond possible. She screamed, a scream of such pure terror that I would have covered my ears if not for the shackles barring me from doing so, and she ran.

Faster than I thought possible Lucian chased after her, grabbed her by her hair, and anguished cry escaping from her lips, and pulled her back onto the barge. A cry was heard, then a ferocious slap and then silence.

The audience was so quite it seemed as though someone had died, with this thought I jolted and looked towards the writhing arm-less man.

I saw two muscled men put him onto a cotton stretcher and carefully place him into a carriage that immediately began to move towards one of the streets, presumably towards the nearest hospital.

The crowd began to whisper again and one of them shouted towards Lucian's helper, "So, is this auction still on, or not?" Before the auctioneer could reply, Lucian stepped onto the podium. His body language and smile indicated that nothing out of the ordinary had happened -a fact that chilled me to the bone.

"Yes fine sir, the auction will continue, he pushed his helper of the stage and dragged me forward, "Goodbye, Carpathia" he whispered into my ear. "You are no longer needed. As you can see, I've found her."

It was at this moment that I realised that an unsuspecting worker must have found her in her hiding place and shackled her into rows like the rest of us. Not knowing that this was his masters missing 'object of devotion'. How close I had been to becoming this madman's new 'toy'?

His face resumed is casual facade and began the bidding, after the incident with the last winning bidder; most seemed unprepared to place bids.

"We will begin with 20 denarii, any takers?" the Roman legionary from before chuckled but didn't accept. "20…" came a hesitant bid from the back, "25" a middle-aged man dressed in the garb of a butcher put forward lecherously.

"30" the voice at the back came again, "50" spoke the butcher calmly, it seemed that this was more than the other bidder was willing to pay, as there cam no response from the back. I swept my gaze desperately towards the Roman, begging his silently with my eyes, I did not want to become the property of a perverted 40-something butcher.

Lucian looked around the room for any other bidders, "is 50 denarii the final offer? Yes? Going once, going twi-". "60 denarii", I gave a sigh of relief, the Roman had bid. "65" countered the butcher, I held my breath, "70" said the Roman, "75" said the Butcher.

"100!" came the call from the Roman, I looked towards the Butcher who bared a disgruntled expression but obviously did not wish to bid more. "100 denarii to the Roman Solider! Going once, going twice. Sold!"

I was pulled down from the stage by a worker and my cuff-shackles were separated from the larger chain while my hands remained connected. My chain and key were handed to the Roman and the worker walked away after collecting the money from his hands.

He gave me a contemptuous look and walked towards his carriage. I stayed stubbornly still, I had made my decision will on the stage. I would help the woman escape. No one deserved to be the maniacal obsession of a mad-man.

The Roman turned around his face in a sneer, "Well" he said, "Are you coming?" "No" I replied, my stubborn façade almost slipping off as I awaited the blow I knew was inevitable "Not until that poor woman is safe from Lucian".

His sneer slid off his golden lips and for a moment closed my eyes, promising myself I wouldn't scream. But rather than a stinging blow across my cheek I felt nothing.

I pried open my eyes all looked towards him only to see that his sneer had been replaced by a stinging smirk, "I never did like that bastard, when we were in training together, by the great Romulus Tigris no less." I barely stopped the shiver that slithered down my body at the mention of his name. "He was always too arrogant for his own good."

He turned and looked down contemplatively at me, "Ok girl, we will go rescue the woman. But you must vow on both her life and yours that you will not attempt to run away. I may be kind, but I will not be made a fool of by a slave. Do you understand?"

His previously open and laughing features looked cold, a growl forming on his lips. I nodded; I would not cross this man.

OoOoOoOo***oOoOoOoO

I crept back onto the barge, the Roman standing guard. My heart sped up, just remembering the screams that echoed from the deck, chilled me to the bone. I swept my eyes across the deck looking for possible hiding places but finding none.

Swiftly running across the decaying deck, I opened the door to the private living quarters. Slipping in, I closed the door behind me.


End file.
